


we keep this love in a photograph

by badwolfbadwolf



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Fluff, Hobbies, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, M/M, Photography, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26381326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/pseuds/badwolfbadwolf
Summary: Joe is ecstatic when he discovers photography.  Nicky doesn't really understand why, until he finds the photographs his love has taken.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 19
Kudos: 347





	we keep this love in a photograph

**Author's Note:**

> Totally cheesy, unoriginal title from Photograph by Ed Sheeran.
> 
> Written as a tumblr prompt, cleaned up and posted here!

It’s not ‘til they have a few months off in the summer that they start to get bored. Screwing each other’s brains out and feeding each other chocolate is well and good fun, but sometimes they need the mental challenge of something new.

Joe decides he’ll take up photography; Nicky tries and fails at about ten different hobbies. Crocheting goes horribly, Booker gives up on trying to teach him how to whip a souffle after some heated words over whisking that is “not vigorous enough”, and taking up an instrument has always been too difficult with their constant traveling. Nicky decides to revert back to a favorite, reading. The flat they’re in has a collection of “classics” that are centuries younger than he is, and it amuses him to trace the passage of time with the contours of language that rise and fall.

He’s settled into an armchair, the lazy sunbeams piercing through the gauzy curtains, dust motes floating in the air. The click of Joe’s shutter makes Nicky look up abruptly, and he can feel his face pull into an irritated frown that really isn’t that irritated at all.

“Joe,” he says, pulling his legs up. They’re really not supposed to be taking photographs of each other— no trace is supposed to be left behind— and also the way Joe is looking at his picture on the little screen of the camera is supremely embarrassing.

“Sorry, love,” Joe says, and he sits down on the footstool on top of Nicky’s toes and rests his head on his drawn up knees. “I will ask next time.”

“You had better,” Nicky says, feeling like a petulant child. Joe kisses his knee and Nicky feels any irritation melt away; he can never stay mad at Joe.

“You can make it up to me,” Nicky says tentatively, and Joe perks up at that, pushing his head between Nicky’s knees and resting his chin right near the tops of them.

“Anything you want,” Joe promises, and Nicky has to smile. He finds his bookmark, placing the dusty thing on the rickety side table and pulling Joe up into his lap. The old slats creak beneath their weight but it holds, and they spend the rest of the afternoon trading lazy kisses in the sunlight.

***

Nicky’d almost forgotten about the camera the next time. They’re on a walk through the woods, the nip of an early autumn wind cutting through their sweaters, and Nicky pulls his scarf tight around him. The sun’s setting earlier now, shining through near-empty branches, the leaves crunching beneath their booted feet.

Joe’s stopping to pause every once in a while, bending low to focus on a fallen tree, it’s trunk rotting and covered with spongy moss in a deep green.

“I know, I know,” Joe says from his crouched position. “None of you, my love.”

Nicky smiles, but maybe kind of wants him to, just a little. He doesn’t actually mind being the object of his Yusuf’s attention and brilliant focus. He had sat for a portrait a time or two before for Joe. Nude.

He lets Joe take pictures of the rabbits and the trees and the sun over a wildly growing prairie, greens and browns rustling gently as they walk.

“Beautiful,” Joe remarks, looking at Nicky in that intense way that he does, and Nicky blushes because he know Joe means both the sunset and himself. Nine hundred years and Joe’s words still make his heart race. “Just one, maybe?” Joe says, holding up his camera. “I will make it worth your while.” His gaze holds the heat of promise and Nicky finds himself nodding, though he feels supremely awkward as Joe raises the camera.

“Alright.”

They hold hands on the walk back through the preserve, the sun nearly setting and their fingers growing numb from the cold. Joe makes it worth his while by worshipping Nicky’s body all night and kissing the warmth back into every inch of skin.

***

Nicky finally gives in after a while, hardly even looking up every time Joe picks up his camera and starts snapping away. He’s laying in bed, hair tousled, not yet willing to get up just yet. Joe had said something to make him laugh and Nicky felt light and warm. He tugs his tshirt down from where it is riding up over his belly, turning to give Joe a faux seductive look and a bat of his eyes. Joe dutifully takes a photo and Nicky can’t keep in a genuine laugh.

“Will you show me these, hayati?”

Joe smiles, dropping the camera down and crawling into bed next to Nicky, kissing him soundly. “Of course.”

But it doesn’t come up again as they’re too busy reclaiming each other’s bodies for the rest of the morning.

***

It’s not until weeks later that Nicky even remembers about the photos. It’s deep into winter, now, the air bitterly cold around them. They’re back with Booker and they’re always careful around him, trying to keep him warm in the blustery cold because heavens knows he’s had enough torment on that front to last ten thousand years.

Joe and Booker are watching a match in the main room, Nicky giving the kitchen another whirl, this time trying his hand at an omelette. Booker had made it look so easy— just flip the edges over, see?— but it was not easy at all. Nicky mutters something derogatory about the French under his breath, binning his second batch of eggs and then deciding to try to scrounge around the pantry to see if there is something available to microwave. Joe wouldn’t mind and Booker can stuff it if he dares to complain.

As he reaches for the cabinet, Nicky looks over at the little side table in their miniscule entryway, seeing the camera there. There are some photographs there as well, and Nicky cocks his head, curious. Joe hadn’t shared any of these with him; when had he had them developed?

Nicky wipes his hands clean on his apron and then pulls the photographs out from their paper envelope. His breath hitches at what he sees there. Joe always has had a talent for capturing beauty, at pinning it down to a page in words or brush strokes, and here is no different. There is the crisp leaves, vivid reds and oranges and crushed browns. There is the donut and coffee held in Nicky’s hands from that one time they stopped on the park bench and took the time to people watch before heading in for an early evening. There is Booker’s face creased with laughter from when Andy had burned a turkey horribly in the oven; she is an even worse cook than Nicky is.

But the ones that are the most breathtaking— they are the ones of Nicky. The softness of the light behind him, the naked curve of his shoulder, the way his eyes crinkle up in delight at whatever Joe had said in the moment before the click. They are, objectively, beautiful, and beautiful because Joe captured them.

Nicky tenses a moment as he feels someone step nearby to him, a reflex ingrained into him from too many years of looking over their shoulders. He glances to the side, knowing it’s Joe, his lips curving into a small smile and his body relaxing, though his fingers hold the photographs tightly. “You little devil, hiding these.”

Joe comes closer, pressing his body against Nicky’s backside, brushing his lips against his neck. “And? What do you think?”

Nicky hums, knowing his poker face is terrible and not even trying for a lighthearted joke. “You are amazing,” he says simply. He lets Joe turn him in his arms, the two of them wrapped up in each other in the little hallway. Joe’s sweater is scratchy against him, his lips warm, his body perfectly fitted to his. And Nicky will never, ever, ever tire of this light feeling in his chest.

“How did I get so lucky?” Joe asks, and Nicky knows not to answer, because he knows the question is not for him. He feels the same way, though.

They kiss and kiss until Booker yells at them about keeping Joe away from the game and they grin at each other like two teenagers caught in a broom closet. Joe gives him one more kiss and then pulls him forward so they can plop into the big armchair together, but not before Nicky can slip the photos into his pocket to examine more later.

They have frozen pot pies for dinner, and neither Joe nor Booker say anything. Nicky’s got another thousand years to find a hobby, after all, so he’s not too concerned. For now he can pass the time relearning every inch of his beloved’s body, and that is certainly enough to keep them occupied for the next long while.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as [badwolfbadwolf](http://badwolfbadwolf.tumblr.com). Come say hi!


End file.
